


Freeze Dried Romance

by LeaLPotter



Series: Baby Steps [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Fluff, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Self-Esteem Issues, Unresolved Sexual Tension, otp: The Fancy and The Fury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 13:17:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4626663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeaLPotter/pseuds/LeaLPotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He would have expected Kurt to fill the silence, just like he seems to fill every single empty hole in Dave's life lately – and yeah, that's either incredibly corny or incredibly gross.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Look The Other Way

Dave doesn't know the first thing about Kurt.

Really, he doesn't have a fucking clue.

Yeah, sure, he knows just how to stretch his arm over Kurt's shoulders when they're having a movie marathon (old musicals when it's Kurt's turn, Kevin Bacon when it's Dave's – hey, turns out Dave's gay after all, he's allowed to have all the celebrity crushes he fucking well pleases). He knows to rub his knuckles up and down Kurt's arm when his boyfriend – yes, Kurt Fucking Hummel is his _boyfriend_ now, how about that – snuggles tighter into his side.

He has got it covered when it comes to kissing down Kurt's neck, slow enough that he starts giving this staccato breathing, shuddering and arching into the slightest touch.

He knows how to have Kurt squirming under him, and about those ninja tricks Kurt uses to be touching every inch of Dave's body while still looking entirely harmless and innocent. He knows all about the resolute set of Kurt's jaw when he grits his teeth impatiently and forces Dave on his back on the bed, knees in a vice on each side of Dave's waist, his mouth opening over Dave's own, hot and eager.

They have been torturously close on a number of occasions, but they've gotten better. Lately, Dave doesn't even need to pull back anymore; Kurt will kiss his shoulder softly and wriggle out of the bed, rambling on about musicals and plans and something called a Pippa.

And it's not like he's some fucking creep, of course, he can get off just fine on his own and Kurt has been more than helpful when it comes to provide him with jerking off material, _but_.

But fuck him; fuck him if he knows what goes through Fancy's mind most times. He wants to get this right so badly it wakes him up at night, sweating like a goddamn pig in a poker. And it shouldn't be like this, right? It should be so easy, and confortable, and fucking terrific, it shouldn't feel like sawdust in his stomach, like he's Blonde Chick 3# on any B-movie, walking up to the front door knowing, just being so fucking certain that there's something _out there_ , and opening the goddamn door anyway, because, hey, Dave and the Blonde Chick 3# are stupid like that.

He wants this so badly he's not even sure he ought to have it anymore. So maybe he should end this while he's ahead, while he still remembers how it is to not have Kurt, while he isn't taking it for granted yet. The thought that he ever _will_ is laughable, but that's actually for the best; it will be easier to let go of something he knows he doesn't deserve than of something he feels is _his_.

The glitch in that plan is that he _likes_ Kurt.

Likes him so fucking much, like he never thought he would, because –

Come on, it's _Fancy._ Won't throw a ball because he might break a nail, will freak out if it's windy enough to mess up his hair, will bitch and bitch and fucking _bitch_ if the new guy at the 'Stix brings him a regular refill instead of diet – that's Fancy for you.

But it's also Kurt. Can kick a football to the goddamn sky if warmed up right, will let Dave run his fingers through his hair all he wants just because Dave mentioned _once_ how much he liked it, will leave a 20% tip to the older waitress even though she keeps mixing up their orders. That is Kurt for Dave.

Dave hadn't known, no one had fucking _told_ him, when he was lusting after Kurt and it was killing him, when he was utterly terrified of Kurt, when he was tripping himself head over heels in love with Kurt, no one told him that he would ever actually _like_ him.

Because, you know, just because you love someone it doesn't mean you have to like them all that much, okay? It's not in the fucking _prerequisites_ , that's what.

And, fine, it's not _all_ about the cool quirks of Kurt's personality, either. That would be rational, at least. And it isn't even that his dick likes Kurt, his dick always liked Kurt well enough, but it's not just that, if it were just his dick, Dave would fucking _deal_.

The problem, the fucking ginormous problem is that his _arms_ like Kurt, the shape of him against Dave's chest; his hands like the trace of Kurt's bones and tendons; his fingers like Kurt's hair and Kurt's lips. Dave is pretty sure his fucking fingernails kind of fancy Kurt, too.

His mouth likes every part of Kurt's fucking gorgeous body that it has managed to kiss so far, and his eyes like Kurt so fucking much it's as if they itch and burn in their sockets to see, to see Kurt all the time.

Dave wishes he could leave it at that; Kurt's a pretty hot dude, and Dave has been getting down and dirty with this gay thing on a daily basis, so what's the big deal if his body feels like it's getting cold turkey when it goes by one day without him touching Kurt? Shit happens, and all.

Then Kurt will arch his sneaky ninja eyebrows at some stupid thing Finn says, or he'll smile proudly at Carole's choice of outfit, or shake his head and steal his dad's plate whenever Burt gets overly generous with his servings – or he'll simply glance at Dave and honest-to-fucking-God _light up_ and Dave's officially done for, he just throws in the goddamn towel and gives the fuck up.

So it's no wonder he's so fucking in like with Kurt, as if being in love with him wasn't enough, as if wanting him every single hour of the fucking day wasn't enough, he has to _like_ the guy.

This is what Dave's frazzled mind runs through while he just stands there, staring horrified at the splotch of ketchup on Kurt's white pants.

Granted, the pants are not _on_ Kurt, thank all of his lucky stars; they're just on his bed, along with a few other things Kurt had been in the middle of hanging when Dave arrived.

But they're still white.

And Kurt's.

And probably cost more than Dave's entire wardrobe.

 _Fuck_.

He grabs the pants; _water_ , he thinks frantically, _soak them_ , because he's a teenage boy with a really hot cocktease of a boyfriend and he knows in the most uncomfortable way that you should never let stains dry.

The pants are dripping now, and he's managed to get even more water on his own clothes than on them. He dries himself off to the best of his ability, takes the pants and the towel and shoves it all into his gym bag – thanking all the saints and their mothers for having wanted to go work out a bit before coming to Kurt's –, hoping against hope that Kurt won't notice it missing among the mountain of clothes he's got. Then he most likely suffers three near-death experiences while running down the stairs.

He peeks into the kitchen. Burt, Carole and Finn are sitting around the table, munching away on Kurt's cake between 'ohs' and 'ahs', and Kurt's leaning against the counter, wiping off a glass bowl and smiling ever so slightly, one sleeve of his shirt rolled up to his elbow, a rebel strand of hair over his forehead. He looks like something out of a fucking dream, and Dave wants him, wants him all the fucking time, rolling around in his bed, barely coming up for air before sucking Kurt's tongue into his mouth again.

He notices the tray on the counter, looking ready to take upstairs: a glass of Coke – there's a red can in the trash and _fuck_ , it's regular, because Kurt knows he can't drink it any other way, but no one else drinks it like that here, so Kurt must have bought it _for_ Dave, for God's sake – and a piece of cake with his name written on it, no, _literally_ written on it because it's Kurt and he does shit like writing _Dave_ with chocolate syrup on the best piece of seriously mouthwatering cake Dave has ever fucking seen.

He clears his throat, "I have to go," and feels like an asshole.

Four pairs of eyes zero in on him and he gulps, clutching the bag behind him tighter. Then Kurt lifts his eyebrows and tosses the rag aside.

"You're going? Why?" His hand wavers over the tray, uncertainly.

Dave shuffles his feet and bites the inside of his cheek. He has to think of something credible, has to think of – Jesus, Kurt's eyebrows are cleared for take off – something that won't piss him off too much.

"My… mom called. She needs… she wants… stuff."

Kurt blinks at him.

"Stuff?"

"I –"

"Well, if you have to go, you have to go," and of course Burt would say that. Dave knows he still has got to prove himself, but every fucking time he goes to Kurt's he remembers Burt muttering uncomfortably loud about Blaine being such a nice kid when Kurt told him they were dating. It's only been a week since Burt and Carole know about the whole 'them' package and Dave's already feeling wistful about all the sneaking around he and Kurt had to do before The Great Reveal.

"Honey," Carole reasons, shooting Burt a look that makes him throw his hands up in surrender.

Carole makes awesome snickerdoodles. He remembers that from afternoons with the guys at Finn's before they both grew up into assholish jerks.

"Are you sure, Dave?" She looks warily at Finn, who has got one piece of half-devoured cake on each hand. "I can't guarantee there will be any more left."

Kurt purses his lips.

"The Apocalypse isn't nigh, Finn, god." He looks back at Dave questioningly.

"I – I gotta go, I really – I'm sorry."

"Dude, we're not gonna hold you hostage." Finn grins, easy and friendly, and when the fuck did _that_ happen. "But you're totally missing out."

Dave risks a glance at Kurt and feels the urge to pull down that sleeve and comb back his hair, back him into the counter with his whole body, and Finn couldn't be any more right if he tried.

Kurt rolls his eyes at him, at Finn, at Burt, at the kitchen and the whole world for being so astoundingly inferior.

"Go on, then. Go do whatever mysterious 'stuff' you need to do for your mom who is calling you for 'stuff' right in the middle of her, and I quote, 'seventh circle of Hell ain't got nothing on it, sweetie' shift."

Dave winces and looks down. This is going just _swell_.

"I'll call you, okay?"

Kurt sighs and nods.

"Fine. I'd wrap this up, but it's really creamy and it would be entirely ruined when you got home," he says, glancing at the cake. Dave can tell he's mad probably thinks it serves him right that Finn will get to eat the _Dave_ slice, but God, he can't, what if the pants are ruined forever because he waited, what if anyone notices his wet clothes, what if Kurt finally sees him for the loser he is and –

"I'll walk you out."

Dave catches a muffled 'I think he knows where the door is by now, son' followed shortly by 'Leave them alone, honey. Have more cake' as Kurt is closing the kitchen door behind them. The walk to Dave's truck is silent and awkward in every way, mostly because Dave keeps trying to use his gym bag to cover the wet spots in his clothes while not drawing too much attention to the bag at the same time, and keeping the most distance he's kept from Kurt since way before got together. He would have expected Kurt to fill the silence, just like he seems to fill every single empty hole in Dave's life lately – and yeah, that's either incredibly corny or incredibly gross.

Except, as he has been noticing for some time now, not really _that_ gross,

Dave coughs and swallows before his mind sidetracks him to pleasanter if even more embarrassing routes.

"Dave."

He almost falls into Kurt when the other boy comes to an abrupt stop in front of him.

"Yeah?" He is holding the bag defensively now, hoping against hope that Kurt doesn't dump him solely on the basis of his obvious mental disorder.

"Is everything – I mean, is – are we –"

Dave freezes. If the next words coming out of Kurt's mouth are 'We need to talk' he'll –

He has no fucking idea what he'll do with himself.

"Forget it." Kurt gives him a half-smile and waves at the pick-up. "Well, aren't you getting in?"

Dave nods and starts leaning in to kiss him goodbye, but the bag is still kind of in the way, and he would drop it in a second, but then Kurt would see his shirt and his jeans, and there would be questions, and Dave still has no fucking clue how one goes about cleaning ketchup off white fabric. Kurt's mouth is soft and open and waiting – he would do anything, sell his house, his parents and his sisters, for fuck's sake, just to kiss him now, his _boyfriend_ , his, _Dave's,_ but he can't. He can't because he's so fucking _stupid_ , and he can't deal with questions and explanations and Kurt breaking it off because Dave can't fucking eat like a semi-civilized human being.

Kurt looks up, all sweet and confused, and steps in, one grounding hand coming up to rest on his arm.

"So. I'll call you," Dave hurries out and bolts.

He shoots one last look at the rearview mirror after backing into the street. Kurt is hugging himself and is face is all pinched and strange, and Dave wants to drive himself into a wall but he just keeps going. 

 

* * *

 

 

He gets home jittery and out of breath, and is quick to lock himself in his room and open the bag, ignoring the quickening drum in his veins. The spot looks huge, bigger than he remembers. There's no one home and he's clueless; he knows basic laundry rules like not mixing white and colors, and cold wash, and 'I swear to God, David, if you don't start checking your pockets before throwing every thing that you don't feel like folding into the washer, I'll get a druggie's urine sample, have it tested, then send the results to your football coach under your name', so he's not entirely hopeless. But this isn't one more pair of his Target jeans; these are _Kurt's_ clothes. He does the only smart thing he can possibly think of and calls his sister. 

 

* * *

 

 

"Em's phone. Who this be?"

"Fu-uck."

"Davey? Is that you? Is that _really_ you?"

"Just get my sister, Olivia."

"But we haven't talked in _eons_."

"Yeah, I might have had something to do with that. My sister, come on."

"Well, she can't right now, you know, a girl's gotta pee when a girl's gotta pee. Let's chat."

"Let's not. Just tell Em I called, I –"

"Dave?"

"Thank fucking God. _Em_."

"Sorry."

"Can't you change roommates? Pick someone, I don't know, _sane_."

"It's not that simple."

"Right. Whatever. Still say you've got no taste."

"Well, thank you, Day-Day! Same compliment to your boy –"

"Olivia, enough. Sorry, Dave."

"You fucking _told_ her?"

"Actually, Alex conference-called and told _us._ "

" _Swell._ "

"Really, who is she going to tell?"

"Don't like her knowing stuff about me."

"She's not that –"

"Save it, fuck, I don't have the time."

"Did something happen? I just spoke with Paul this morning, he didn't – are mom and Alex –"

"It's nothing to do with them, calm your shit. I need a favor."

"You have such a way of asking for them."

"C'mon, Em. I'm fucked."

"Out with it."

"It's just – I've got these pants, and they're white, and there was ketchup, and now they're getting dry again and I –"

"You own white pants?"

"They're not mine, they're Kurt's, and that's the problem, 'cause he –"

"Kurt? Isn't that – David, what are you doing with your boyfriend's pants?"

"What? And shut the harpie up, will you?"

"I really think his pants should stay _on_ him for now. How long have you been –"

"Go get it, D-man!"

"Just kill me now."

"Olivia, really. I think he's hyperventilating."

"I'm not!"

"You sound like it."

"They're his goddamn pants, and they're goddamn _white_ , and nice, and fucking expensive, and mom says you shouldn't use bleach on nice stuff, and they weren't on him, he made me a burger and they were on the bed –"

"What were they doing on the bed instead of on _him_?"

"Fuck, Em, you know what, just forget it –"

"Googling it didn't occur to you?"

"I… no."

"A doomed generation. Well, while you were ranting away, _Olivia_ did a search for you."

"…"

"There's a ton of easy-fixes, but considering that the pants are: _one_ , not yours; _two_ , your boyfriend's; _three_ , apparently expensive enough that you'd think of calling me _after_ not deigning to tell me that you have a boyfriend in the first place – I would recommend you try a professional."

"What –"

"The laundry around the corner of that bakery with the sanitation laws infringing cream-puffs. They're rather efficient and fast with small services. If you need money you can go to my room and –"

"I have money."

"Blast, there goes the interest."

"Thanks, Em. And, y'know, thank Olivia for doing the search and all."

"She says you're welcome. And –"

"What?"

"That you should work out your sexual frustration with your boyfriend instead of venting it on innocent cloth."

" _Bye_."


	2. Wait Until It's Over

It could have definitely turned out worse. The pair looks as good as new, and it hasn’t cost a tenth the money he would have given to fix them. Dave catches himself petting the smooth fabric and scowls; he folds them carefully and goes to call his boyfriend.

He goes by Kurt’s two days later, when only Carole is home. When the three of them cross paths on the stairs, she smiles fondly and gives them a playful reminder of “Door” – which they choose to interpret as leaning it almost shut. Dave is aware that he needs to make up for the last day; he hasn’t stopped thinking of ways to actively give back, so he’s quick in putting those thoughts to good use by pulling Kurt down on top of him on the bed.

He is getting good at this rolling around without falling off business, even if it’s really fucking _hard_ to concentrate when Kurt’s tongue is stroking wetly alongside his, and Kurt’s hands are running feverishly up and down his chest, making him squirm and change their positions whenever those ninja-fingers linger too long over his stomach and sides. Kissing Kurt is nothing short of glorious, but he needs a clear head or else he’ll be sure to ruin it spectacularly. It comes close on a number of occasions, as when he moves to press Kurt to the bed and the smaller boy lets out a sort of trapped noise that heads straight for his cock and makes him almost give in and hump Kurt like a fucking rabid dog, desperate for some sort of release.

He keeps in mind the three-dates rule at all times; he just isn’t sure _what_ consists in a real date for Kurt. They have gone out a total of four times now, and the first one _did_ feel like a date, if only because Dave had wanted it to be one so badly, planning it to the last detail. Then, in a strike of some delayed karma, the French movie marathon had been pulled off thanks to a termite infestation in the theater, and they had ended up going to the old ice cream place on the other side of town. Kurt had smiled shyly when Dave insisted to pay for it; he had climbed all over him and kissed him senseless after finding out the healthy movie-snacks Dave had hid in the back seat. The sky was cloudy that night – karma, you see, has the worst fucking timing of all bitches in history –, so all those hours Dave had spent looking up constellations and memorizing star-charts had gone to hell, but the blanket was still warm and soft when Kurt spread it by the swings in the park; they had just lain there for a while, kisses drunk with the excitement of being in plain view of whoever decided to take a late night stroll.

That had been a date, and Dave didn’t think it had sucked that much on Kurt’s end, French movies and stargazing aside. But the other times had been just them, out in places where they thought they could get away with being together by using Santana as an obscure, whip-holding figure looming in the background. And yes, Dave had known they would be good together but he hadn’t known _how_ good, this good, this unbelievably get-on-your-knees-and-beg-for-more kind of good.

Considering how much he has to lose, it’s no real wonder that every time they are alone together – and he has Kurt arching up into him and breathing his name, his hands restless to explore every inch of Dave’s body he can reach – Dave eventually has to take a deep breath, center himself and get it though his goddamned thick head that this isn’t about the finishing line, but about the race, and that there’s actually no race and he can very well take care of his own business himself, and that if he fucks this up with Kurt his brain can come up with awesome and terrifying ways to torture him with memories for all eternity. And then he pulls back.

Kurt will give him a look that plainly says “What a strange and unusual creature you are”, but always goes with it easily enough. He will get up gracefully and offer to go fetch them refreshments, and Dave will refuse, because even worse than being too close to Kurt is being away from him.

This time, however, he is a man with a mission. As soon as he hears Kurt padding softly down the stairs, he unzips his bag and pulls out the pants, smoothing them out anxiously. He opens the closet door, wincing at the muffled creak of wood, and blinks twice, taking in the obscene amount of clothing his boyfriend owns. Every piece probably has it’s own _zip code_ , for fuck’s sake. They look color-coded, which is a win, but are probably also brand-coordinated, which _fuck_. He can hear Kurt moving around in the kitchen; he hastily grabs an empty hanger, hangs the pants, squeezes them amidst similar light-colored pairs and shuts the door. He can feel a bead of sweat sliding down his forehead onto his nose as he sits back on the bed, knees trembling.

Then he hears something crumple beneath him with a sound that has to qualify as _sickening_. He holds his breath for as long as he can and then gets up slowly, actually praying under his breath.

There it is. Dave isn’t even sure what the fuck it was supposed to be before he dropped his fat ass on it, but it’s stripped? Kind of like a horse and, okay, it’s a zebra, a zebra pin, a zebra _head_ pin with the clasp dangling from the side as he picks it up gingerly.

He feels nauseous; he wonders if he’s about to pass out. Then there are Kurt’s steps on the stairs and he shoves the broken pin deep in his pocket, his mind already running through his options.

“Dave?”

Kurt is staring at him strangely from the doorway, holding a tray with drinks, _homemade_ cupcakes and a blue plastic bowl overflowing with chips and that’s just too much for Dave. He hisses a half-assed apology, grabs his bag and breezes past Kurt who is apparently struck dumb and doesn’t stop him.

 

* * *

 

Safe again behind his locked door, Dave settles the pin on his desk and drops into his chair, exhausted.

He isn’t what you’d call handy with this sort of thing. He downright sucks at it, really: while every other kid in his class was upgrading from macaroni frames to paper bouquets, or some other shitty bamboozling craft-project like that, he got stuck washing paintbrushes and banging erasers. He isn’t about to attempt any rescue mission on something that looks like it could detach altogether and crumble to dust if he dared touch it again.

After glaring at the thing for a solid half hour – he normally enjoys whatever Kurt wears, especially now that he’s allowed to check him out and will sometimes get a kiss for his leering, but honestly, _what_ –, he finally gives up and goes out to knock on his sister’s door.

She takes one look at it and nods, then whips out their chores chart and instructs him to check the ones he’ll be doing in her stead. He grumbles but checks a generous number, hoping it will encourage swiftness and perfection under pressure. She shoots him a disdainful look and smirks, ushering him out of the room straightaway.

 

* * *

 

“Salt, Dave.”

“Yeah? What’s the magic word?”

“Whipped.”

“You little –“

“Alexis? What’s going on?”

“Dave was just passing me the salt.”

“David?”

“Salt. Fine. There.”

“Good boy.”

“Just kill me now.”

 

* * *

 

  
“Thanks. Looks good.”

“It looks perfect. He won’t notice a thing,” says Alexis flatly, waving him away from behind her book.

“Look, Alex –“ He pauses, unsure.

She looks up, setting the book aside.

“If – Look, if you need any help, you know, homework and stuff, or just anything –“

Alexis bites her lip thoughtfully.

“What about…”

“Yeah?”

“Boy troubles?”

Dave grimaces and holds up his hands defensively.

“No. Just no. Hell to the _no way_.”

“But Da-ave –“

She giggles when he mimics a shot to the head.

“Ask Em or something.”

“ _Right_.”

Dave sighs and shakes his head.

“Sorry, sprog. Gotta deal with that yourself.” He smirks. “I did, and it turned out alright, didn’t it?”

She shoots him a half-incredulous, half-horrified look.

“I mean _now_. It’s great. _Now_.”

“Not for long if you just keep breaking his stuff.” She waves a finger at him; the way her mouth his set reminds him of their mother. “Be _careful_. I like Kurt.”

“Yeah?”

“I like what he does to you.”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugs and turns to her book again. The conversation is clearly over, but he can’t resist messing with her a little more.

“Hey!” she squeaks, feeling his arms closing around her in a bear hug. “What is with you lately, _God_.”

They haven’t hugged since before he started middle school and she was a precocious toddler following him around the house. He can’t remember the last time he spoke to her without one of them telling the other to shut their big fat mouth and yes, she’s his little sister and a gigantic pain in everywhere, but she’s also his _little sister_.

He kisses the top of her head and lets go, smiling as she huffs and mutters about mental cases and white jackets.

“Hey, Alex,” he says from the doorway.

“ _What_.”

“I’d pick you.”

“ _What_?”

“You know. You used to ask Em and me that, if we could pick someone else instead of you, or no kid sister at all, whom would we choose. And I always said –“

“That you’d be an only child,” she completes, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah. But that would suck. And I’d totally pick you.”

“Dave.”

He nods seriously.

“Please tell me you can control your innate lameness around Kurt. I _do_ like him."


	3. See That I Am Needing

Dave is a lot smoother this time. He brings red and yellow roses for Kurt, kisses him boldly by the front door and takes his hand as they almost run up the stairs. Kurt is eyeing him warily the whole time, but his eyes brighten when Dave pushes him against the closed door for a deeper kiss, hands framing Kurt's face possessively.

It's Dave who remembers to salvage the flowers, placing them delicately on the white vanity; Kurt is still holding himself against the wood, one hand grasping the doorknob, his cheeks tinged pink, his chest going up and down in uneven breaths. Dave smiles at him knowingly and presses their bodies together again, one of his hands resting heavy on the small of Kurt's back. He opens Kurt's mouth with his tongue, sucking the breath out of him; he lets his hand slide down to knead his ass in rhythm with Kurt's fists clenching and unclenching on the fabric over his shoulders. He feels his lower body heat up noticeably when Kurt's hips start stroking his own in subtle, incomplete circles.

Dave pulls back even as Kurt leans forward to follow his mouth; he gives him a tight grin and points at his laptop case.

"I come bearing moving pictures?" he says tentatively, still not letting go of his boyfriend.

The strange, pinched expression that he has been seeing on Kurt's face more and more often is there again. Kurt sighs and nods, nudging him away.

"I'll go make popcorn. Sweet or salty? Wait, I'll make both. And I've got regular Coke for you, if you want. And I think there's still some of Carole's raspberry cheesecake left. I'll go check."

Dave laughs in pure amazement, throwing his arm around Kurt's shoulders and pulling him closer to kiss his neck.

And his earlobe.

And his jawline.

And then they're at it again, Dave sucking and nibbling on Kurt's delicious neck, Kurt tugging at his shirt, and his hair, and everywhere he can reach, bucking his hips into Dave hard enough to cause some damage. Dave growls a little and hooks his hands on Kurt's hipbones, holding him still against the door. Kurt gasps and seizes the opportunity to pull Dave's face nearer to his, positively attacking his mouth with soft bites and a sharp tongue. Dave is getting lost all over again; Kurt has always had this effect on him, this leave-no-button-unpushed thing he does. It's worse and every kind of amazing now, though.

"Hey, we should, we should –"

"Shut up, Dave, please, just  _shut up_."

He does and puts his mouth to better use. One of Kurt's knees has nudged its way between his legs and his bare foot is rubbing up and down Dave's calf in slow, languid circles. Dave holds himself against him, presses his thumb softly into the hinge of his jaw, feeling their mouths move together. He's hard enough to pound nails by now, but can't bring himself to care if Kurt feels it.

Then Kurt's hips twist and snap and, at precisely the same moment that he feels Kurt's own hardness pressing up eagerly into him, he also feels the sharp outline of the pin clasp in his pocket. He almost bangs his head on Kurt's shoulder in frustration because he  _can't_  let it go, he can't ignore it, and Kurt is moving frantically under him, letting Dave touch him and touching back with double the intent, but the fucking pin. And Kurt hasn't brought up the pants yet, but what if he does, and the  _fucking pin_ , and what is Kurt even doing with him, really, when he could get so much better.

It's easier than it should have been to pull away now that his brain has gone down that particular route. Kurt's eyes are wide and round with confusion, his lips still parted and shining wet.

Dave is such a fuck-up.

But Kurt just shakes his head and fixes his hair and clothes before flashing Dave a weak grin and heading downstairs to conjure up their movie-marathon food-storm.

Dave sits down carefully on the desk chair; it looks sprightly and elegant, two things Dave obviously isn't. He fishes the pin out of his pocket; it's a survivor and he grins proudly at it before smacking his own forehead, really fucking annoyed at his lack of brain cells. He shoves the zebra to the back of Kurt's third desk drawer with a relieved sigh.

Whenever they can get away with it, they watch movies in Kurt's bed, curled up against the headboard, Dave's laptop perched on their intertwined legs. He feels lighter as he moves to set it up; any day now he'll man up and talk to Kurt about moving things forward a little between them. He wouldn't even think of opening his mouth if the odds weren't more in favor of Kurt saying yes than 'not ever, Neanderthal, _ew_ '.

They've both been holding back; Kurt did have Bland for a while, but Dave believes him when he says that they never moved past kissing. Dave had Santana, in a way, and one or two other hook-ups at Z's parties, but he's betting he hasn't outdone Kurt by a lot. The fear of this being no more than a summer fling for Kurt creeps up from time to time; but worse than that, so much worse, is the fear that Kurt hasn't completely forgiven him yet. Sometimes, it feels to Dave like he has; sometimes Kurt's eyes will soften when he's looking at Dave, and his kisses are hungry and elated whenever Dave lets it slip that he loves him. But then stuff like Kurt's pants and the zebra pin happen, and he can't help but wonder what Kurt really saw in him, what is possibly keeping him with Dave, and he wavers.

Now, as he leans against the headboard of Kurt's bed, a good movie selection under his fingertips and one of Kurt's soft scarves wrapped around his hand, he feels lucky. Confident, the world at his feet. He smiles at Kurt's whole room; the smile grows wider and goofier when he notices a small frame on Kurt's beside table: it's  _their_  picture, one of the thousands of pictures Carole insists on taking of them whenever she finds them curled into each other on the couch. He can feel himself growing  _bubbly_ , warm coils of happiness turning and weaving beneath his ribcage. He grins down at the red scarf, bringing it up to his nose discreetly; Kurt smells better than any other guy, any other girl, even, and it's like his clothes are saturated with it. Dave thinks he can feel it on his own clothes sometimes, can smell Kurt on his own skin – just the thought of it is intoxicating enough to make him come twice as hard just before going to sleep.

The scarf smells just like a concentrate of Kurt and he toys with the idea of asking him to take it home; then he remembers Alexis's warning about lameness and thinks better of it. He folds the scarf neatly and reaches out to place it on Kurt's bedside table before stopping dead.

 _No. No, fuck no, no, no,_ _**no.** _

There's a hole, there's a huge motherfucking  _hole_  in it, and there's red thread all over the table and on his lap.

When Dave was young, his mother always kept a sharp eye for loose threads on his clothes, because every time he got nervous or overly distracted he would start picking at them until there was more hole and thread than actual fabric. And now –

Well, fuck.

He could cry. No, he could actually cry now, from frustration and self-hatred and God knows what else. Whenever he pushed Kurt against one more locker, threatened him time after time, he used to think it could never get worse than that, the feeling of sinking deeper and deeper into a bizarre dark pit of his own making. But God, he has so much to lose now; he had nothing then, nothing but Kurt's hatred burning at him and his own growing self-disgust. Now he has everything he could ever ask for: his family's acceptance, his own acceptance and  _Kurt_. And if he keeps fucking up, the first two won't count for shit when he loses the third. His parents don't even know they're dating; Kurt and him had agreed to give them more time to adjust and to regain a sense of normalcy. For all the ridicule of it, he desperately wants to bring Kurt home as his boyfriend now, but he can't, he can't because he keeps doing shit like this, and he hadn't even noticed, had been so careful to check the bed and watch the lamps and now –

Dave sucks in a calming breath. Then another, as it refuses to do any kind of calming. Then he picks up the scarf and wraps it firmly around his waist, pulling at his polo shirt to cover it without looking too conspicuous. He glances wistfully at his laptop; he had been looking forward to finally getting all the way through  _Wild Things,_ now that he didn't have to feel guilty over not being particularly enthused by the gratuitous lesbian fan service. He had even conceded on  _Singing In The Rain_  just for the sake of Kurt's running commentary on the epic, star-crossed love of Don and Cosmo, helped along by their mutual beard, Debbie Reynolds.

He makes sure not to leave any incriminating proof behind and walks down the stairs with his shoulders hunched, constantly picking at the folds in his shirt.

When he reaches the kitchen, Kurt is in the process of setting a plate with large, mouth-watering slices of cheesecake. He feels as if his throat is tying itself into hard knots; lo and behold, people, the worst and the best boyfriend  _ever_.

"Hey."

Kurt turns to him with a bright smile that falls as soon as he notices the laptop case in Dave's hand. He sets his jaw and glances away, putting the plate back in the fridge without a word.

"My dad –"

"Just go, Dave."

"No, he called, he needs me to go pick up Alex, he –"

Dave's mouth runs dry when Kurt takes his phone out of his pocket.

"You must have dropped it when we…" Kurt shakes his head, his lip curling slightly. "I found it at the bottom of the stairs. Here."

Dave takes it in silence, knowing that  _this_  is a million times worse than all his mishaps combined.

"Kurt –"

"You had better have some sort of explanation when you call me tomorrow, David. And I hope it's a good one."

" _Kurt_  –"

Kurt looks at him sadly and a lot less defiantly than Dave wishes he did.

"If you don't want to be here, then –"

"Fuck,  _Kurt_ , you've got no idea, don't do this –"

"Then call me tomorrow and explain, please." Kurt sighs tiredly. "But now you should go. It's what you want, isn't it?"

Dave knows the signs by now. The way Kurt is holding himself proudly, his back tense and unbending, his shoulders squared for a fight. Knows this is a challenge, that the right answer would be 'No fucking way', and the right move would be pulling Kurt close and kissing all those nagging insecurities away. But there's a fucking scarf wrapped around his waist, a scarf with a fucking huge hole in it,  _Kurt's_  scarf. So he gives the wrong answer by shutting up and nodding, and makes the wrong move by going out the door and driving away, avoiding all mirrors like the irresponsible coward he is.

That night he makes half the right move and calls Kurt without waiting for the next day.

 

* * *

 

 

"I thought I told you not to call me until tomorrow."

"Why'd you pick up then?"

"…"

"I'm sorry I lied, Kurt."

"Why did you?"

"Because I had to come home right away, and I didn't want to tell you why, and I panicked. Because I'm a dick. I'm sorry."

"Why couldn't you tell me you had to go home? It's not like I force you to come to my house or – God,  _do_  I?"

"What am I, three? You really think I'd go there if I didn't want to?"

"I…"

"Baby."

"I think you think that's your get-out-of-jail free card for everything but it isn't, David, it really isn't."

"C'mon, baby."

"Stop  _smirking_."

"'M not smirking."

"I can hear it."

"I'm smiling."

"Oh. Why?"

"Can't tell you."

"Another mystery? Oh my."

"Don't want you to think I'm lame."

"I think you're lame all the time, so…"

"… really?"

"What?"

"You really think I'm lame?"

"… no, not really. If I were in a better mood I would say you are pretty amazing."

" _Really_."

" _If_  I were in a better mood. Which I'm not."

"Because I'm an asshole."

"Because you lied to me. And I'd like to understand why you would feel the need to do that, but you won't let me."

"I love you, Kurt."

"…"

"See,  _lame_."

"That – that get-out-of-jail free card is a little more efficient than the other one."

"I love you, baby?"

"Not quite right. Unless you sing it…"

"Bite me."

"We'll see."

"Oh?"

"What are you wearing?"

"W-what?"

"I see. You should be drunk for this."

"…"

" _Dave_ …"

"… yeah?"

"Ungh. Nothing."

"We should sleep."

"… yes, I guess we should. Goodnight, David."

"Night, Kurt. We're – We're okay, right?"

"We're fine. Sleep."

"'Kay, baby."

"Sweet-talker."

"Uh-huh."

"Bye, Dave."

"…"

"And you fall asleep first. Typical."

"…"

"I think I just might be in love with you too, Dave."

"…"

"And I think you can take out the 'might'."

"…"

"And the 'think'."

"…"

"Of course that will just leave you with a poorly constructed sentence. Oh, well."

"..."

"..."


	4. Begging For So Much More

"It can't be fixed, Dave, I'm sorry."

"Can't you just – I don't know, sew it shut?"

His mother frowns and looks up despairingly.

"This isn't one of your old gym socks, David. I can  _mend_  the hole, but I can't make it magically disappear like you want me to."

" _Fuck_."

"David."

"Sorry, mom."

 

* * *

 

 

He calls Emily again later that night; he can tell she is holding back laughter throughout the entire phone call, but she agrees to help, so he lets it go. They soon figure out that the only solution is to buy a new one – which means that it will have to be  _Olivia_  helping him. She demands a picture of the scarf and, within two hours, he gets a copy of an online receipt in his inbox.

Dave stares at it for a few minutes, disbelievingly. It's  _fabric_. With frayed ends, or whatever, it doesn't even look like it's finished yet, what is this madness. He sucks it up and calls Olivia to let her know he's got it and that yes, he'll pay her back as soon as he can, and no, he won't "owe her one" because he'll be paying back every cent with interest on top, just so that she'll get off his case.

He gets it in the mail two days later. It's an exact copy; it doesn't smell of Kurt, though, like the ruined one he's been keeping under his pillow, but he thinks it'll do. It will have to,  _God_ ; he can't handle this kind of stress anymore.

Kurt has been sounding distant over the phone and Dave would be freaking out if he couldn't tell right away that it's on purpose. Kurt isn't turning into an ice queen because he's distracted by something or _someone_  else, he's doing it because he's entirely too focused on Dave, and yeah, maybe it's dysfunctional but it still warms him up a inside. Now, standing outside Kurt's front door with a brand-new, crazy-expensive red scarf in his backpack, and wearing the red shirt Kurt likes best – he's feeling really good about this. Third time's the charm and all.

Finn answers the door, chewing his way around a grilled cheese, and it makes Dave a little hungry but he shoves it down; Kurt probably has some sort of monumental feast already spread out in the kitchen, for all Dave always claims not having a appetite. Finn nods, gulping down and grinning broadly, then moves back to let Dave in.

"Dude, you better have been starving yourself for the last two weeks."

Dave's brow furrows but then he feels the pure  _deliciousness_  drifting from behind the half closed kitchen door; Finn makes an 'I know, right?' face and brushes bread crumbs off his t-shirt.

"He's been holed up in there since after breakfast. I had to  _beg_  for him to let me in to make a sandwich." He shakes his head meaningfully at Dave. "Kurt can be kind of really freaking scary with a wooden spoon."

Dave chuckles uneasily, wondering where the hell Comradely Finn came from, and not for the first time. Looks like they're best buds now, what do you know.

"Guess I'll take my chances."

"Your funeral, man. But, hey, if you get out alive, bring me something. I don't even care what, the smell's been driving me crazy." Finn nods again and claps his arm; Dave stares at him bemusedly as the half-giant makes his way to the living room.

Shaking his head, he pushes the door open; the scents hit him like a warm, three-course home cooked meal; his mouth fills with water. Every surface is covered with either baking sheets or muffin pans; in the oven he can see three large pizzas uneven enough to look homemade, and Kurt has a glass bowl in his arms and is mixing up a storm. Dave's mouth drops open; the whole kitchen looks like something out of a high-end cooking show and  _Kurt_  – Kurt looks fucking delicious, with a snug, full-body apron over a sinfully tight-fitting combo of t-shirt and jeans, bare arms covered in flour and cinnamon, and a smudge of white frosting on his chin that Dave would kill to be licking off.

"Why, hello, David."

He realizes he's staring and clears his throat.

"Got a new job?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Supplying a few thousand bakeries around the country, I see." Dave grins and takes a bite off a nearby strawberry muffin. "If you've got a good quality-price rate going on, you'll be retiring by graduation, 'cause these?" He waves the muffin in his hand, already eyeing the chocolate chip oatmeal cookies flirting with him from the far end of the table. "These could rule the world, I'm telling you that."

Kurt is biting his lip to keep from smiling, but Dave can see right through him and winks, setting the muffin down on the counter. Kurt finally relents and crosses the kitchen in a flash, fisting his hands in Dave's collar and pulling him down for a chocolate and cinnamon kiss.

They break away completely after a good five minutes, their lips swollen-red and bruised.

"Better?" Dave whispers, drawing Kurt into his arms and burying his face on the pale curve of his neck.

"So much," Kurt sighs, fingers playing with the short hair at the nape of his boyfriend's neck. "I like you. You should come around more often. Don't be a stranger."

Dave chuckles and kisses his collarbone softly, breathing in the already familiar Kurt-scent – which reminds him immediately of the contents of his backpack. He reluctantly lets go; Kurt sighs and makes a show of brushing their clothes, lifting up a white cloud.

"Sorry," he mutters, running his hands in circles over Dave's chest, long after there's no trace of flour to be found.

Dave wets his lips, his skin growing impossibly hot under Kurt's restless fingers.

"So, what's all this?" he asks, going for a distraction.

"Just something to keep me busy," answers Kurt dismissively, his eyes and palms still overly intent on Dave's chest.

"I can see that."

"Dave?"

"Yeah, baby?"

Kurt blushes and leans closer, cornering Dave against the edge of the counter. One of his hands sneaks boldly into Dave's back pocket; the other is hooked around his neck, pulling his head down until he can feel Kurt's warm breath on the sensitive skin bellow his ear. He shivers, trapped and never wanting to be anywhere else in the whole fucking world.

"Dave."

"Y-yeah?"

"Let's go to my room."

Dave thinks of the scarf in his bag, the pin in the third drawer, the pants hanging in Kurt's closet; he swallows.

"What about Finn?"

" _Fuck_  Finn."

"Thanks a lot, little bro."

They pull away faster than battery polar opposites; Dave's elbow knocks against one of the sheets overflowing with cooling cookies and sends them flying to the ground, tender crumbs scattering all over the floor.

"Fuck!"

"Finn!"

Finn stares at them for a while, his eyebrows knitted together; then he shrugs, snags a handful of banana and chocolate chip muffins and flees the kitchen.

" _Fuck_. Fuck, Kurt, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to – shit, look, just hand me a broom or something, I'll –"

Kurt holds up one hand and he shuts up immediately, unsure. The other boy is holding his own chest and taking quick shallow breaths.

"Kurt?"

"That jerk. That ninja-footed jerk. He does this on purpose, you know? All the time. Jumps at me from  _nowhere_. I'm the last person to come to for heart-attack jokes, but I swear he's worse on my artery walls than trans fats."

He shakes himself and glances at the floor, surprised.

"What – oh. Well, that we'll teach me to multitask. There are only so many cookie batches you can have laying around before tragedy strikes."

Dave winces.

"I'm sorry. Just tell me where all the cleaning stuff is and I'll fix this. I didn't mean to –"

"Well, of course you didn't, David." Kurt smiles, threading carefully through the light brown smithereens. "I don't think it's likely that you'd come all the way here just to wreak havoc in my kitchen. Which, by the way, was entirely Finn's fault."

"But you made them, and they looked really fucking good, and now I –"

Kurt comes to a halt in front of him and straightens the collar of his shirt, one eyebrow going up.

"They're just cookies. Hardly penitence worthy."

"But –"

"You know what?" Kurt leans closer, fingertips skimming the underside of Dave's jaw. "You should go up to my room and wait there for me. Could you do that, Dave? For me?" He bites his lip coyly, fingering one of the buttons.

Red scarf, zebra pin, white pants, Dave repeats to himself like a calming mantra.

"What about –"

Kurt catches the finger Dave had been pointing at the mess and takes the chance to intertwine their hands.

"Leave it to me. Maybe I'll get my valet to do it."

"Your  _valet_?"

Kurt smirks, nudging him gently until he's out of the kitchen.

"Have you met Finn?"

Dave chuckles faintly and nods, relenting.

"Good  _boy_ ," Kurt practically purrs.  _Shit_. "I'll be quick. Don't start without me," he calls over his shoulder, making Dave almost skip a step, because really?

 _Really_.

 

* * *

 

 

"Finn."

"Kurt?"

"'Bro'?"

"Hum, no?"

"Never."

"Gotcha."

 

* * *

 

 

He's becoming a pro at this, Dave decides as he folds the scarf carefully and places it behind the neat pile of books on Kurt's desk. He looks at the bed longingly but takes the safe course and plops down on the thick rug, leaning his back against the comforter.

He thinks of what will happen when Kurt comes up, and can't help the full-bodied shiver of excitement; there's no mistaking Kurt's tone and body language even if Dave wanted to – which he really  _doesn't_. He locks away that nagging voice at the back of his head hissing about timing and forgiveness, about school lockers and preppy uniforms.

True to his word, Kurt is lightning-fast entering the room and closing the door behind him; he kneels in front of Dave and climbs into his lap, straddling his hips; then he cups Dave's face and kisses him, hard and wild. They move together silently, twisting and bending around each other to find a comfortable position. "Why aren't you on the bed?" Kurt gasps out; Dave shrugs with no real idea of what the question was and pulls Kurt as close as humanly possible, one hand on the back of his neck, the other heavy and possessive on his boyfriend's perfect ass.

They manage to push themselves up onto the mattress without breaking a particularly bruising kiss; Kurt shoves him back playfully and wedges one thigh between his legs – then he slides down until their bodies are flush together and Dave thinks,  _oh fuck,_ and does Kurt honestly expect him to last enough to make this into a decent memory?

Kurt apparently has as much grasp of control as Dave does, which means zero, which means that when Burt yanks the door wide open he probably wishes he hadn't. Dave wishes he had a brain, because when Kurt jumps up babbling nonsensical protests, he still has half a mind to grab him and pull him back on top of him to resume their enthusiastic simulation of animalistic rutting.

Carole and Finn manage to calm both Hummels down eventually, even though Kurt keeps letting out vague snide remarks about privacy, and one strangely specific about how  _some people_  can suck face with their opinionated girlfriends all they want in plain view of the whole family, but he can't even kiss his boyfriend goodbye without his dad clearing his throat obnoxiously and making veiled threats about ammunition. Burt snaps back with a comment about inappropriate behavior that even Dave can see he regrets the minute it leaves his mouth; Kurt sneers and starts ranting about fake-pregnancy scares, and double standards and heteronormative close-mindedness, which makes Burt sputter indignantly and start raising his voice – until finally Carole whistles loud and shocking enough to render them both mute. Dave almost breaks down laughing, suddenly reminded of how Finn's birthday parties always had the lowest rate in furniture damage; then Finn himself elbows him and he sobers up immediately.

Carole makes them all sit down around the table; Dave is begging with everything he has to be excused, but despite his resolute 'bitchy-mode  _on_ ' face, Kurt's shoulders are shaking. He sits down beside his boyfriend and bumps their knees together; Kurt lets out a small sigh and his shoulders still.

"We should lay out some ground-rules," Carole suggests; Dave thinks she's taking Burt's hand under the table. Kurt is looking at his father a little anxiously now, taking in his reddened face and the fast rise and fall of his chest – "I'm sorry, dad," he says, biting his lip.

Burt nods and blurts out that he might maybe,  _maybe_ be a little at fault here, too. Kurt sits up straighter in his chair but holds his tongue; Dave bumps their knees together again and leaves them that way.

Half an hour later, Kurt has gained door privileges and Finn has been asked to moderate his displays of affection, both public and private, least Carole forces him to take regular Family Planning meetings. Burt gives a half-hearted try at restricting Kurt and Dave's newly gained privacy, but Carole's "Teenagers always find a way, honey, and teenage  _boys_  on top of that…" makes him drop it with a grumbled "Thirtieth birthday, that's all I asked" – which Dave absolutely doesn't get, but it makes  _Kurt_  break down laughing and suddenly the mood is notably lighter.

Carole invites him to dinner and the sudden pressure of Kurt's fingers around his wrist makes him say yes, of course, he'll just call his mom.

The conversation is strained at first as they all make themselves enjoy Kurt's pizzas – which isn't a hardship in itself, even through the forced polite chatting. Then Finn turns to Kurt mid-bite and blurts out "Dude, you should have seen your  _face_ " and as fucking inappropriate as it is, it turns out to be exactly what they need. Kurt and Finn launch into an epic bickering-battle concerning each other's misdoings with Burt and Carole backing up their arguments with more accurate facts and Dave discreetly egging both of them on – and it's working great until they eventually catch on and Finn starts telling the tale of Dave's brief stint in the glee club, putting emphasis on his song choice for practicing, the absolute  _bastard_ , all the while their parents look on in amusement and Kurt is practically bursting with delighted smugness.

They kiss each other goodbye outside; for all the warm acceptance that they've been getting, they both still rank a semi-private swift make-out session high above a demure public peck.

When Dave gets home he's feeling lighter than he's felt in days, somehow; Kurt is seemingly oblivious to random articles popping in and out of his own room and much more interested in rubbing himself all over Dave. A state of things that Dave feels in no need to correct.

However, two days later, all hell breaks loose.


	5. Gone And Missed It

_Finn is at Rachel’s. Come over?_

The pleasant haze from his dinner at Kurt’s house had vanished with the following morning, leaving nothing behind but a vague yet ever-present sense of dread. He blames the scarf. It has stopped smelling like Kurt, and it’s now just a bitter reminder of why he can’t have nice things.

It’s turning into a knee-jerk reaction: at the thought of Kurt’s house his palms get hot and sticky, his armpits prickle and he starts getting twitchy all over. Dave feels heavy and awkward; his hands look bigger and clumsier already. He shoves them in his pockets with a snarl. He thinks of the ruined cookies all over Kurt’s kitchen floor, of dark red stains, and loose thread and dangling pins; he’s a _menace_ , for fuck’s sake.

The door is unlocked. That’s when his knee-jerk reaction becomes an all-encompassing body shudder. Either Kurt’s house has been broken in – he instantly regrets wishing for it – or this is Fancy setting up the scene where Dave will eventually get his marching orders. He considers turning back and texting Kurt that he’s sick, missing a vital limb, volunteering in Siberia. Kurt can’t break up with him if Dave isn’t there, can he? And he’ll turn off his phone, bury his router and hole up in his room – if Kurt has no means of reaching Dave, he can’t dump him.

Right?

Or Kurt can just consider himself single and move on by humping his way through every slightly bi-curious douche he meets. And as much as Bland rubs Dave absolutely wrong, he must at least know how to move around Kurt’s room without wreaking havoc in his path – and fanfuckingtastic, now he’s thinking of Bland in Kurt’s room. It’s not like they ever even slept together, though – except it is, even if Bland had drunk _himself_ under the table, and Kurt always laughs and says he slept so far to the edge of the bed, courtesy of his intimate-contact issues, that he fell down twice, but still. Dave punches his thigh, craving the distraction, and pushes the door open.

“Second to the last cupboard as you enter the dining room, if you’re here for the silverware. But if you’re Dave, then please come on up.”

Kurt’s voice drifts from upstairs, ringing clear and dry, and yes, it’s a scene; Dave is about to be let down grand style. He bites his tongue and reminds himself not to bargain or worse, beg – unless there’s even the slightest chance that Fancy might be swayed, in which case grovel away.

Just outside Kurt’s room, he paints a pretty picture of going in to find Kurt lounging on the _loveseat_ ; he will get up with a smile, lock his arms around Dave’s neck, breathe “Hello” onto Dave’s lips just seconds before kissing him. Then he will draw back, his eyes warm and intimate like an invitation, and he’ll pull him further into the room, where they’ll fall into bed. Or on the loveseat, the desk chair, even the _floor_ would be fine, Dave just wants to rush to the part where he’ll get to touch again, and touch even more, where Kurt will want Dave to put his hands all over him. Dave will get to make Kurt fall apart completely, sighing and moaning and writhing under him, and then –

He wants to see. Wants to know he can give Kurt this, if nothing else. He’s getting good at this physical stuff – Kurt seems to think so anyway – and if it’s all he’s ever going to be good at when it comes to Kurt, then he needs to turn into a fucking expert.

He pushes the door open and his heart starts beating faster and faster with the certainty that this _is_ a scene, the grand climax in the final act. The room is absurdly neat, even for Kurt; all the surfaces are barren and immaculate; the plush rug is gone and so are the pillows that should be over Kurt’s bed – oh, and there’s a fucking _enormous_ black swivel chair planted right in the middle of the room, its large back turned to Dave. As soon as he shuts the door behind him, fully aware that that will just confirm his lodging at Twilight Zone, the chair begins to turn.

He feels like smacking himself repeatedly; he should have just stayed in his cozy little closet, should have never apologized to Kurt, should have never fucking called him after Prom, because _what_. Seriously, who does this?

“Why hello, David Karofsky.”

He gawks at his boyfriend, feeling lost and in way too deep for his own good. Kurt is sitting with his white-clad legs crossed, wearing that goddamned Likes Boys t-shirt, and Dave almost believes it’s all for his sake before noticing the red scarf wrapped around his neck in a convoluted noose, pinned into place by what looks like a miniature zebra head. Kurt is petting a teddy bear lying face down on his lap while holding a cookie in his other hand, and Dave just wants to die.

“The hell.”

“I’ve always wanted to do this. Haven’t you always wanted to do this? I have,” says Kurt gleefully, kicking the chair to make it spin around once more.

“Where did you get that?”

“It’s from the auto shop. My dad almost never uses it, even though it’s orthopedic. Do you want to give it a spin?” Kurt asks teasingly, taking a delicate bite out of his cookie.

“Jesus, Kurt.”

“Do you like this pair, David?” He runs a hand down his thigh, slowly. “They’re my absolute favorite. I even have a special niche in my closet for them.”

Dave nods, defeated. He’d rather Kurt just got to the point where he dumps him so he can go home and break shit.

“What about this?” Kurt taps the top of the zebra head with his index finger. “I found it in a dusty little vintage shop in Westerville – it’s so unique, don’t you think? I do enjoy accessorizing.”

Dave half shrugs, feeling distantly thankful to his sister; the pin seems secure enough.

“And _this_.” Kurt unclasps the pin and unwraps the scarf, laying it neatly over his lap. “Well, this I have no idea.”

“Isn’t it the same brand?” Dave forces himself to ask, wondering if Olivia possibly got it wrong on purpose to get a little even with him. He can’t even manage anger at her, now.

“Oh, yes. Same collection, exactly the right color. It’s a perfect match.” Kurt gives him a sly smile. “But I’m what you could call quirky, as I’m sure you’ve already noticed. I have this habit of sewing a tiny, very simple fleur-de-lis on the underside of my scarves. Personalizing is the key, Dave. Besides,” he wraps one end of the scarf around his finger, pouting, “our school is an infested pit, filled to the brim with cold-hearted bandits, and my scarves _are_ expensive.”

Dave stares at him, baffled to his very core. He had always known he was in way over his head when he and Kurt finally got together, but he really had no fucking clue back then.

However, Kurt is still taking.

“Do you want a cookie, David? These are simply delicious, if I say so myself.” Kurt slides off the chair, leaving the teddy, the scarf and the pin behind, and saunters over to his boyfriend. Dave has never seen anyone _saunter_ before, but it’s definitely effective.

Kurt hooks one finger on Dave’s belt hoops and drags him forward until their chests are flush against each other.

“Do you, David?”

“Kurt, _stop_.”

The singer actually looks puzzled.

“Stop what?”

“This… whatever fucked-up game you’re playing here, okay? I get it; I’m a screw-up, dumb enough to think for one second that I could get this by you without you ever noticing. You’ve made your goddamn point.”

Kurt shakes his head, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“No, I don’t think you’ve got my point at all, David. It’s a shame, since mine is a very simple, very straightforward point, but you’ll get there eventually.” He drags one hand up Dave’s chest, letting his idle fingers catch on the buttons of his boyfriend’s shirt. “See, you haven’t even complimented my choice of t-shirt, even though you keep asking me to wear it.”

Dave’s knees are starting to give under him; he feels exhausted, and slow, and so fucking stupid because he’s not sure what Kurt’s driving at anymore.

“It looks good.”

“Just that?” Kurt glances up coyly from below his eyelashes. “I’m sure you can do better, _David_.”

“It –“ Dave shakes his head, grasps Kurt’s arms and pushes him away slightly to study his face. “What are you doing, Kurt?”

The temptress façade crumbles and Kurt scowls, jerking free from his grip.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he hisses, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Fucking with my mind like you always do, that’s what it looks like,” and Dave never meant to be angry at _Kurt_ ; he has been plenty angry at himself, at Finn for making it look so easy to forget the past, at Blaine for always being _there_ in the background, for being all that Dave isn’t, even at his own family for being so fucking supportive when he deserves none of it, and then at himself a little more – but not at Kurt, not really. But now he can’t believe Kurt would go to all this effort just to make him feel shittier – his skin feels scratchy and stifling all of a sudden, and he just wants to shout and rave, and break the goddamn chair into pieces and cry alone in his bed, because he’s managing to do away with the single best thing that ever happened to him.

“Really? Really, David? You – you absolute bonehead, you –“

“Thanks, you’re a real charmer. I’ll just go, yeah?” He scowls at the scarf. “I’ll send you the receipt and you can ask for a refund, or something. Be seeing you.”

“Oh no, you don’t, Karofsky. Don’t you think for a moment that you’ll get off as easy as that.” Kurt sidesteps him swiftly and plasters himself to the door. “We’re talking, and we’re doing it now, Hamhock.”

Dave has known from a young age exactly what ‘seeing red’ means. It means you should push everyone out of the fucking way before you do something you’ll regret; it means busting your ass on the hockey rink, and later on the football field; it means running and running and running until it clears up enough for you to find the way back home. But when Kurt Fucking Hummel is right in his face, cheeks flushed with anger and eyes shining impossibly bright, it means Dave’s brain shutting down completely and him making the worst decisions of all his life.

However, his self-control must be getting a lot better lately, or maybe he really is _that_ slow, because it’s Kurt who surges up and kisses him hard enough to make their teeth clash.

It’s then and right _there_. The red haze clears up so suddenly that Dave gets emotional whiplash, but he couldn’t give a fucking flying fuck in space because _Kurt_ Fucking _Hummel_ is kissing him, desperate and bruising, and Dave _knows_ this, he might be a dumb fuck at everything else to do with Kurt but not at this. So when Kurt pulls away, eyes already screaming an apology, Dave just snorts and cups his face with every bit of urgency that Kurt has passed on to him – and just like that they’re kissing again, with considerably less anger but with just as much passion as they put into everything.

He stumbles back, dragging Kurt with him; the edge of the chair hits the back of his knees and Dave’s brain reminds him of the brilliant thing that is kissing while sitting down – and that’s really good timing, because after that Kurt’s silky tongue strokes the roof of his mouth and everything else short-circuits and dies. His knees give out; it’s nothing short of a miracle how he manages to find himself on the chair with Kurt awkwardly draped over him; he feels it slip under them and scoots back, pulling Kurt up by the back of his thighs until his boyfriend is securely locked around him.

Now that he can turn his full focus back to Kurt’s delicious mouth, he also gets a sudden understanding of why this particular pair is Kurt’s favorite: it fits him like a goddamned latex glove and Dave’s restless hands can feel _everything_. Thank God he’s sitting down.

“First fight, uh?” he manages when Kurt releases his mouth in favor of his neck.

“Yes,” Kurt says matter-of-factly; Dave would be offended if his boyfriend’s body wasn’t practically seizing in his arms. “And this is called making up.”

“I like it.”

“Mm-hmm.” Kurt draws back slightly. Dave stares, utterly charmed by the darkness in his eyes, the damp flush of his skin, the swollen, well-used lips. “We should finish making up on the bed.”

“Your dad?”

“Won’t be home till five hours from now.” Kurt swallows, still panting. “And I can promise you I don’t intend to last that long.”

“Y-your – your –“

“Carole’s taken up volunteering afternoons at the kindergarten. She’s amazing with little children. Can we please chat a little more?”

“Are you – Kurt, are you _sure_?”

Kurt throws his head back dramatically, jostling the chair and making Dave stifle a whimper as their bodies press closer at every right spot.

“I make food for you. I let you eat in my _room_. God, David, what else does a boy have to do? The get-your-man-through-his-stomach thing isn’t working, and neither is plain old seduction. It would be better if you just gave me a script.”

It feels like a train-wreck to Dave, the way his mind tries to make sense of the last week.

“That’s what all the food was about? The baking craze, the popcorn, the cake, the regular Coke? The – the giant burger with all the ketchup, too?” Kurt nods impatiently. Dave frowns.  “Wait. What seduction?”

He’s not ready for it, and neither is the chair; for all that it’s incredibly comfy and definitely orthopedic, it still rocks dangerously when Kurt jumps down gracelessly and with no warning whatsoever. He steadies it while Kurt gets busy on the ground, picking up the Dave-busting props and setting them methodically on the empty desk.. Dave is fully expecting his boyfriend to get back on, well, on _him_ , so that they can resume either their talk or their previous actions, the latter preferably. Kurt, however, seems to be finding his desk lamp truly riveting.

“Kurt? Baby?”

Silence. Dave sighs.

“What did I do now?”

Kurt turns to him quickly and spreads his arms; his eyes are reddened and too bright.

“You didn’t do anything, David. It’s nothing to do with _you_. Seems like the problem is all mine.” Kurt sniffles wetly, hugging himself, and Dave is by his side with no idea of how he got there so fast. “Nothing new, r-right?” he hiccups into Dave’s shirt.

Dave still doesn’t get what is happening, what _has_ been happening, what parts he has been missing while shortening his life-span by stressing himself to an early grave, but a sort of instinct kicks in and he hugs Kurt tighter, knowing that there’s something bigger than ketchup and cookie crumbles going on in here.

“Kurt, come on, you’ve gotta talk to me, okay? I know I can be really fucking dense sometimes, so you just have to come out and say it.” Dave still has no idea if he’s doing it right, if he’s helping in any way, but it feels righter to be holding Kurt now than to be pulling away. “C’mon, baby, please.”

Kurt gives a little sob at that.

“I just – I never do this right, do I? I thought I could, with you, because you –

it’s so easy with you, and I actually want to, with _you_ , but – I keep making a fool of myself, and one of these days you’ll just get sick of this whole mess and leave, and I –“ Kurt’s voice gives out and he buries his face in Dave’s chest, which is probably for the better; Dave needs time to ground himself and decode the half-sobbed rambling – and also to assure himself that no, that didn’t just come out of his own mouth.

He runs his hands in deep circles over Kurt’s back, kisses his hair, his forehead, bends his neck to press his lips to the tip of his ear; this would probably be easier if they were sitting down again, but he doesn’t feel like jostling Kurt. To stand here with him feels… _sweet,_ in the purest sense of the word. The house is so very quiet; he can hear his boyfriend’s muffled breathing slowing down.

“I love you, Kurt.”

It’s not the first time he says it, not by a long shot, but he still feels anxious and weirdly peaceful at the same time whenever he does. Kurt’s breathing halts for a second and his arms tighten around Dave’s waist.

“Remember that, okay? ‘Cause with you letting out stuff like you’re afraid I might leave you? I worry you’ve forgotten it.” Kurt makes a noise of protest. “Yeah, yeah, but those were your words, not mine. So you are gonna calm down and tell me what’s wrong,.”

“Stop treating me like I’ve regressed to infancy, will you?” retorts Kurt, pulling away.

His eyes are even redder now, puffy and worn, but his voice is strong. Dave rests one hand on the side of his neck and leans down to kiss him softly; Kurt yields into it, his mouth opening readily under Dave’s lips. He tastes like promises to Dave – of what he is not sure just yet.


	6. Don't Want You To Ignore Me

"Dave,” whispers Kurt, his breath sweet and tempting on Dave’s lips.

Dave shakes himself and grabs Kurt’s hand, leading him to the bed. They sit side by side, Kurt looking down intently at their joined hands.

“Tell me?” Dave asks quietly.

Kurt takes a deep breath and looks up, eyes lost in the white ceiling.

“I suck at this,” he says finally, still avoiding Dave’s eyes. “When it came down to genetic assignment, I ended up with plenty of first-rate genes, don’t get me wrong. But I think I might have gotten a defective one somewhere in there.”

Dave struggles to hold back a smile.

“Which one?”

“The – the s-sexy one.”

“Nah. Uh-huh. Try again.”

“David, I’m serious about this,” and as much as it pains him somewhere deep and raw, Dave knows he is.

“Just because you’re serious doesn’t mean you can’t be wrong out of your face, too.”

“You don’t –“

“Get it? That’s right, I don’t. ‘Cause, y’know, I’m stupidly fucking crazy about you, so you can guess how that’s hard for me to believe.”

Kurt’s eyes are back to his face now, hard and suspicious.

“You’ve been avoiding spending time with me like I’m patient zero for the bubonic plague. And every time I try to – you know, you–“

“Every time you try to _what_?”

Kurt huffs and rolls his eyes.

“To seduce you!” He scoffs when Dave starts. “And _you_ – I’ve been painfully obvious and you still don’t… ugh! And then I caught on about this,” he waves at his pants and at the sole contents of the desk, “and I thought that was it, it wasn’t just me being utterly incompetent, but it was also–“ Kurt pauses, brows knitting together. “Actually, I have no idea where you were going with this, and why exactly you’ve been taking away my things. I was hoping you’d clarify that point for me.”

Dave gulps audibly, his palms growing sweaty.

“I – I –“

“Coherency, David.”

“Yeah, like you’re one to talk,” Dave retorts. “I’ve been taking them away to – to fix them.”

“Fix them?”

Dave spreads his hands miserably.

“I messed these up,” he replies, stroking down Kurt’s thigh with two fingers, too wrapped up in his own confession to catch Kurt’s sharp intake of breath at the contact. “With ketchup. So I sent them away for cleaning. But when I finally put them back, I managed to break your pin.” He takes away his hand, sighing. “Alexis fixed that for me. And then the scarf – I wasn’t even thinking, Kurt, I didn’t even notice I was doing it, but then there was this fucking huge hole, and my mom couldn’t fix it, so Em helped me buy a new one, and I _know_ I should have told you, but Christ, who does shit like this, I just kept messing up and I thought you – that you’d –“

“What, that I’d break up with you?” suggests Kurt, laughing. His amusement is cut short when Dave shrugs morosely. “Dave?”

“One after the other. Whenever I thought I’d done right, it happened again. And then your cookies, you saw that one. And I thought I was coming here to be sent on my way, and you had all this stuff on, and a _cookie_ , so –“

“I was _curious_. And hungry,” says Kurt incredulously. “And we still had some left, and I thought chocolate would be better than garlic, or onions, and –“

“Better for what?”

“ _Seduction,_ ” Kurt mumbles. “I wanted – I was trying to –“

“ _Why_?”

“Do you really need to ask?”

Dave nodded, his brow furrowing in deep-set lines.

“We agreed that after our first three dates we would –“ Kurt blushed, matched closely by Dave.

“Actually, that was _your_ rule.”

“Well, fine, _yes_ , but you always seemed so controlled – except not in the way Bla–“ Kurt pauses, but Dave nods tightly, urging him to continue. “Not like Blaine always was. You looked like you were trying so hard, and I wasn’t sure if it was the rule or really _you_ needing to take it slow, so I started cooling things off too, distracting us. But lately you seemed like you were just shy of asking for permission and I wanted you to – I didn’t want to hold back anymore, I don’t think I ever really did, not even that first night.”

Dave takes it in, slow and precisely, putting every piece together with care. Then he starts laughing.

“Dave?”

And he can’t really stop, because they’re _idiots,_ the both of them, and this is probably one of those lessons that are going to take a lot of trial and error to absorb.

“If you’re just gonna sit there and laugh at me, then –“

He surges forward and presses a heavy, needy kiss to Kurt’s lips, partly to shut him up and partly because, well. He _can_.

“So you’ve been going to all this trouble to steal my virtue, uh?” he says, grinning as he nuzzles Kurt’s neck.

“If you’re calling it that, then no, absolutely not.” Kurt is still a little pissed at him, so Dave grasps his hands between his own, looking serious.

“I’m sorry I looked like I was blowing you off, baby. Believe _me_ , that’s something I can’t even imagine myself doing when I’m six feet under. I bet you could just waltz into my memorial service and I’d stand up – in every possible way, if you get what I mean –,” and Kurt slaps his arm, but he’s grinning like a loon, so Dave counts a win, “and I’d follow you any-fucking-where.”

“Really, now.”

“Really. It’s like this: I’m still getting used to just you, okay? I’m still kind of struggling with not being inappropriate whenever you’re close, so seduction? Flies way over my head; you can ask me for a napkin and half my brain will be positive you just suggested we do it on your dining room table.” Dave smirks crudely when Kurt snorts, his cheeks glowing with a fixed light pink. “And that you’re actually trying to – to seduce me, I don’t – I don’t even know what to say. As if it would actually take some kind of _effort_ , Jesus.”

“Well, you’ve been particularly difficult lately.” Kurt shuffles closer, leaning his head on Dave’s shoulder. “And all of that – ditto, for me.”

“Huh?”

“I’m still getting used to you, too.”

Dave scoffs.

“ _Please_. Little league wanna play with the pros?”

“I get hard every time you’re close enough for me to smell your soap, or whatever it is you use on your skin than makes my _whole_ brain focus on getting you in my bed.” It’s Kurt’s turn to smirk as Dave looks flustered. “Comfort matters, Dave. We can’t just ‘do it’ anywhere like animals. And don’t even think of throwing me one more sports analogy, because I _will_ put a sock in your mouth.”

Dave is still staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes. Kurt clears his throat.

“So. About the clothes. I do want you to send me the receipt for that scarf so I can pay you back –“

“No fucking way, Fancy, don’t even go there.”

“But –“

“No way.”

“Well, let me get half, then.”

“ _No_.”

“Dave, I can’t remember the original tag price, considering I got it for half during after-Christmas sales–, “ he pauses for effect, perversely enjoying the expression on Dave’s face, “ –but I do know it was enough to hurt any teenager’s wallet.”

“ _I_ ruined it.”

“Accidents happen, Dave. And I have plenty more clothes.”

“Still.”

“And while we’re on that, did you honestly believe I would break up with you over _clothes_?”

“I know how much you care about shit like that.”

Kurt lifts one eyebrow.

“About shit like clothes?”

“I didn’t mean it like –“

“No, I think you’ve hit the nail exactly right. I know I can get a little… _intense_ about fashion and neatness.” His eyebrow goes up at Dave’s poorly disguised sniggering. “But, and you listen to me now very carefully David Karofsky, do you honestly believe there’s any piece of clothing in that wardrobe that I rank over _you_?”

“You’ve got some pretty expensive sh– stuff in there,” says Dave cautiously.

 _“David_.”

“And that one time you had to clean up after Finn and he got cheese dust all over your fourth favorite pair, or something, and –“

“Third, and I can’t believe you remember that. Dave–“

“And he told me you held a grudge for forever until you got to show Berry all his baby pictures from some Winter Wonderland play where he went as Rudolph and chucked off his pants during the second act.” Dave takes a pause to breathe and narrows his eyes at Kurt. “Which, damn, Fancy, evil-mastermind much?”

Kurt giggles, stroking Dave’s neck lovingly.

“You know me.”

“But it’s not like you could do the same to me. I mean, you _could_ ask my mom, and I’m sure she’d turn it into her own personal mission on earth to make the whole thing pretty damn mortifying, but –“

“Dave!”

“But it’s all really boring stuff, so –“

“I don’t want your baby pictures,” Kurt manages, laughing.

Dave mock-frowns.

“Hey, I look adorable in those.”

“I’m sure you do,” says Kurt, tilting his head to kiss his boyfriend’s shoulder. “But I have no need to get back at you. I wouldn’t have been singing your praises right that moment if you’d told me, but I know my way around stains.”

“Yeah, but what about the pin?”

“I have extremely dexterous hands. Very skilled.” Kurt smiles at him suggestively, and Dave is amazed at how he managed to miss it before. “I could show you, if you’d like.”

Dave chokes on _air_ , it seems like, and that is it. He’s had enough; Kurt’s been doing this on _purpose_ and he’s been too much of a dunce to actually do something about it, but not anymore. He recovers his cool quickly enough to grab and pull at Kurt until his incredibly accommodating boyfriend is straddling his thighs on the bed.

“And the scarf?” he whispers half-heartedly, mouth brushing Kurt’s earlobe.

“I have tons of scarves,” whispers Kurt back, rubbing Dave’s shoulders with thinly veiled interest.

“Yeah, I don’t know, you’re being awfully cavalier about all this.”

“Well, there’s also that part where I have this _thing_ for you that is rather blinding, so it might be that, too.” Kurt gets holds of one of Dave’s hands and starts stroking the crook between forefinger and thumb with his fingertip. There’s something in his eyes, and something in his voice, and _something_ in all of him that makes Dave’s breath catch; he isn’t sure what it is yet, but is really fucking thrilled to see it there all the same.

He nudges at Kurt’s face with his nose until they’re facing each other – and then, instead of going for his boyfriend’s mouth, which had been the goddamn plan all along, he goes and opens his big stupid mouth.

“Kurt, before we… I just need to know, okay? Did you – I mean, am I –“

“Mm-hmm?”

“Do you forgive me?” he hurries out, unable to meet Kurt’s eyes.

“What, about the clothes? Dave, there’s no–“

“No. Well, that too, but that isn’t – I’m talking about _everything_.” Dave sighs when Kurt keeps looking at him in confusion. “All the fucking locker shoving, and slushying your friends, and the t-threats, and the – the kiss.”

Everything goes very still, as if he has stopped time with some awesome, just now unveiled superpower. He drops his eyes to his lap, focusing on how Kurt still hasn’t let go of his hand.

“Oh, David,” Kurt says quietly. He sounds _amused_. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but think we should cut back on our kissing time and put in some _talking_ time. We need it badly.”

“What?”

“No, it’s my fault, really. I’m so used to you getting me when it comes to everything else, that I forget how you get completely lost in translation when it comes to how I feel about _you_.” His grip on Dave’s hand strengthens. “Dave, I – there really is nothing to forgive.”

“Shit, how can you _say_ that, Kurt, come on –“

“There’s nothing to forgive because I’ve forgiven you a long time ago. Before I even knew I had, to be honest.” He smiles fondly. “Do you think I would have asked you to be my boyfriend if I still held that kind of thing over you?”

Dave scrunches up his nose, reigning in the urge to run up and down Kurt’s street singing at the top of his lungs. “Hum, technically…”

“Yes?”

“You didn’t _ask_ me to be your boyfriend, Fancy. You implied I already was and then backtracked like the goddamned legions of hell were hot on your heels when I tried to make sure.”

Kurt scowls, turning his head haughtily, and Dave simply _has_ to lean forward and kiss him, firm and sure, lingering for what feels like days and centuries, and yet too few seconds.

“Hmmm, _David_ ,” sighs Kurt, when they break apart. His grip is strong on Dave’s upper arms, and his eyes are determined. “You should tell me now if you’re not ready, or if you want to wait a little more, because this push-me-pull-me routine is driving me crazy, quite frankly.”

Dave’s lips curl into a playful smirk.

“Oh, really?”

“Really. And if you need more time it’s fine, of course it’s fine, but you need to tell me so that I can start investing some time on relaxing meditation techniques.”

“Jeez, Fancy, that’s a whole lot of pressure to put on a guy.”

Kurt deflates a little and looks down.

“Stop that. This is all just – very _new_ to me. I’m walking blind here, Dave, I have no idea what to do with all these –“ Kurt waves vaguely. “These feelings.”

Dave can’t help but ask.

“New? What about Bland?”

Kurt glares at him coolly.

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”

“Got me there.” Dave winks. “So. How do you wanna do this?”

“My boyfriend, the romantic.” Kurt looks around them, thoughtfully. “Well, we already had that one time on the phone.”

“That’s different.”

“I know. I though maybe we could–“

Dave shoots him an incredulous look.

“You want to do this over the _phone_?”

Kurt lets out a startled laugh, and shakes his head.

“No, of course not, David. Actually, I was thinking we could just pick up where we left the other day, before my dad cockblocked our homerun.”

Dave was just about to comment on how unfair it was that _Kurt_ was allowed sports analogies, and then he was just about to snigger at t _hat_ particular analogy coming from Kurt’s mouth, but then that same mouth was trapping his in a deadly lock, and those deceptively delicate hands were pushing him down on his back, and his brain was screeching at him to _fucking get with the fucking program already_ , _you inconsiderate jerk_.

Kurt is suddenly on top of him, body sliding up and down deliberately, flush to Dave’s from top to bottom; he wriggles his way between Dave’s legs and the top buttons of their pants clash with a sharp metallic sound. Dave wonders for a moment if they wouldn’t be better doing this undressed. His cock seems to be on board as far as Kurt is concerned, but it hardly seems like his boyfriend would agree to getting buck-naked while letting Dave keep his own clothes.

The other boy leans onto his elbows and drops his head to lick the hollow of Dave’s neck, making Dave arch in a painful angle, desperate for more of something he can’t even name.

Kurt glances down, pupils so wide he looks like something out of fucking _Supernatural._

“This... this is big.” He bites his lip and grinds down harder, eyes narrowing with pleasure when Dave shivers. “ _Feels_ big.”

“Thanks,” grunts Dave, because he’s a smart-ass. He’s expecting an eye-roll or a kick to his calf, but what he gets is Kurt’s tongue stroking wetly over his bottom lip and Kurt’s playful ‘Uh-huh’ of agreement. “Doesn’t feel – shit, do that again – so shabby on your side.”

Kurt locks his thighs around Dave’s right leg, rolling his hips and trailing one hand up Dave’s side.

“I _was_ having a moment of self-realization, thank you for participating, David. But while we’re at it, do me a favor.” He purrs the next part into Dave’s ear. “Get on top."


	7. Too Long Trying To Resist It

He doesn’t wait for the repeat. Soon they’re rolling over and he has just accidentally elbowed Kurt’s ribcage, and Kurt’s lethal weapon of a hipbone is jabbing into his stomach, so it’s sort of awkward, and difficult, and fucking _wonderful_. He bites down harder than he was planning to on the curve of Kurt’s shoulder, making his boyfriend seize up into him, gasping – yeah, he’s definitely filling that one in for later –, which causes Dave to lose his balance and end up with half his body off the bed, feet planted firmly on the wooden floor to keep from falling off entirely. And even then it’s the most fun Dave’s let himself have in _years_ , with Kurt giggling and slapping his chest only to pull him on top of him again. They kiss like they’re running out of oxygen and like they’ve got already too much of it pumping through their veins; they roll over again because Kurt is a control-freak with way too many issues, but they never break apart. Then Dave gets enough of Kurt’s teasing licks and all over the place wriggling and just grips his ass with one hand and the back of his head with the other, turning them over for good while holding him firmly in place. Kurt moans low and pleased into the kiss, spreading himself out under Dave’s heavier bulk.

“Fuck, it _does_ look good on you,” is the first thing to come out of Dave’s mouth when he can find it in him to leave the wet-hot stroking of Kurt’s talented tongue. He supports himself on one elbow to palm his way down Kurt’s chest.

“Your obsession with this t-shirt is oddly flattering,” breathes Kurt harshly, giving a small sob when Dave’s fingers catch on his nipple.

His boyfriend looks down in wonder and lets his hand trail up again over the hardened nub. Kurt keens high in his throat, blushing a deep red when Dave’s eyes catch his.

“What?” he snaps.

“N-nothing,” chokes out Dave, tracing firmer and tighter circles around the spot that has got him enthralled.

“God, _Dave_ , touch me, just –“ Kurt throws his head back, baring the elegant line of his neck to Dave’s hungry eyes.

He gives in to the half-moaned request and catches Kurt’s nipple through his shirt with his thumb and forefinger, pinching roughly in rhythm with his shallow thrusts between Kurt’s thighs. His boyfriend’s head lolls on the comforter, the much darker blue-gray of his eyes gleaming from under drooping eyelids.

Dave understands suddenly how close Kurt is, how he really wasn’t yanking Dave’s chain about how attracted he is to him – and it feels even warmer inside, like there’s nothing Dave ever wants to be but himself, Dave Karofsky, Kurt Hummel’s fucking lucky bastard of a boyfriend. And he really wants this to last a little longer – he’s pretty sure he won’t be able to hold it as soon as he watches Kurt come, feels Kurt falling apart _because_ of him.

“Hey, Fancy?”

Kurt shakes his head limply, his pliant body undulating on the bed, and he whimpers as if grieving for the loss of Dave’s hands on him.

“Remember that– that time you wanted me to take you out for breakfast crazy early and we ended up napping in my car after?”

“ _You_ napped.” One of Kurt’s eyes opens slowly. “I did my Cosmo quizzes.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Dave crows internally when both Kurt’s eyes flash open and he stills, regarding him like a fascinating oddity. “I’ve been thinking. Was that –“

Kurt surges up and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, grinning.

“I see what you did there, Karofsky. Fine. Good things come to boys who wait, right?” He chuckles and presses a chaste kiss to Dave’s chin. “Go on then, distract me,” he says airily, letting one of his hands sneak down to palm the front of Dave’s thankfully baggy jeans.

 _Fuck him_ , Dave should have seen that one coming.

“Was that... nngh, _Jesus_ , Kurt... was that a date?”

“Looked like it from my end.” Kurt twists, trying to get comfortable in the process of blowing away all the neurons Dave might still have left. “Hmm, hold up – is this... good?”

“Know what, just never stop, like _ever_ , god fucking damnit, you're way too hot for your own good.”

“So sweet.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah." Dave sucks a brief red mark on the dip of Kurt's collarbone, breathing heavily through his nose. "Was it?"

Just when Kurt is opening his mouth to answer, Dave grabs that ninja-hand and pushes it against Kurt’s crotch; he covers it with his own hand and watches fascinatedly as Kurt rubs himself through _those_ pants. His boyfriend falls back down onto the bed with a drawn-out groan.

“Was it, baby?”

"W-what was?"

"C'mon, stay with me man.”

Dave’s smirk is short-lived; Kurt’s other hand comes into play from _nowhere_ and manages to wriggle its way between the top of Dave’s jeans and the waistband of his boxers.

"Your bedroom talk is appallingly lacking, just so you know.” Kurt can’t look smug, not with his own hand still rubbing firmly over his cock, egged on by Dave’s, but then neither can his boyfriend. “And of course it was.”

"Huh" Dave takes definite action, letting go of Kurt’s wrist reluctantly and hooking his hands under Kurt's knees in order to bend and spread his legs further, swallowing his boyfriend’s breathless gasp with an urgent kiss. "Didn't feel like a date."

Trapped as it is between their bodies, Kurt’s exploring hand loses its wriggling area – something for which Dave is oddly relieved and incredibly regretful at the same time.

"We went out. Together. To enjoy ourselves at an appointed time. Together."

If he tilts his hips to the left a little he can just make out the really fucking hot and flatteringly hard shape of Kurt’s dick, shit, shit, _shit –_ it’s like he’s never wanted anything more than to feel it heavy and thick and so impossibly _real_ in his hand.

God, could he get any _gayer_?

"Sure, but we were just... hanging out."

"And?"

Dave chuckles, catching Kurt’s tasty looking earlobe between his teeth and grinding down in slower, steadier circles.

"Aaand I like hanging out with you."

"Exactly, David.” Kurt huffs impatiently, wrenching his hand free from where it was getting squashed between their rocking bodies. “Now shut up, you can't talk and kiss."

"Bossy.” Dave obeys, for a few minutes, easily getting lost in Kurt’s taste. “But we were just, you know.”

“For the love of all that glitters, why are you so intent on this?” snaps Kurt, frustrated.

“Just keeping count I guess.”

Dave kind of has to keep count of _something_ by now, because he can see Kurt’s _nipples_ , pebbled and darkened as if begging for a touch; he could just bend his head and suck one into his mouth, only he can’t focus long enough to take off Kurt’s shirt and this is one thing he never wants to see ruined.

“Don't you like our dates?”

“'Course I do.”

Dave has to bite back laughter at the deeply annoyed look on Kurt’s face. There’s a hot knot of pressure growing at the base of his stomach, pulsing in time with the slow roll of his hips between Kurt’s bent legs; he focuses on Kurt’s voice instead of on how he bucks up wantonly every time Dave presses down.

“So...?”

“Didn't feel like one.”

“Is this your way of telling me to stop? _Now_?” Kurt stares at him in amazement. “Ambiguity is not appreciated in these matters. We can extend the three dates rule if you're that uncomfortable.”

If there’s one thing Dave is not even close to being right now is uncomfortable, not with Kurt’s cock hard and wanting just a couple of layers beneath him. Horny as a fucking orgy in hell and desperate for just any kind of distraction yes, but definitely not uncomfortable. “What, no!”

“Then?”

“I just thought... you know, dating, would be a lot harder, that's all.”

 _This_ kind of dating, however, is possibly the easiest thing he’s ever done. Kurt seems to agree as he tangles his fingers in Dave’s hair.

“It’s not quantum physics.” Kurt sneers, pulling a little at the shorter hairs at the back of Dave’s head. “Though you’d probably like that.”

“Hey, don’t hate on the closeted nerd.”

“Freak. You're supposed to like them, Dave.” Kurt wrinkles his nose. “Our amazing dates, I mean _.”_

“Even if it just feels like hanging out? With a dude I like to kiss a lot?”

And fuck the understatement. Dave is smirking, fully expecting Kurt to bitch out, but Kurt just giggles, wrapping his long legs around his waist, ankles crossing over Dave's ass. He digs his heels in, forcing them even closer – Dave can _feel_ the bruises forming and he can’t wait to take a good victorious look at them in the morning.

“That sounds like a pretty good definition, actually.” Kurt grabs hold of Dave’s chin and looks him squarely in the eye. “Is that enough chit-chat for you?”

Dave gulps, considering; on one hand there’s still so much he wants to do to Kurt, with Kurt, on Kurt – he lets the ‘ _in’_ part drift away slightly, but never too far out of reach–, and he also wants to keep doing this forever; on the other, definitely more influential hand, he’s pretty sure his cock will conspire with Kurt to detach itself so they can run away together to party at Disneyworld jail, or something.

“Yeah. Yeah, come here,” he mumbles, his mouth already dragging hotly over Kurt’s, and pushes himself up slightly to allow Kurt’s hand into his jeans. The heels of Kurt’s feet press hard into his ass again; he can feel Kurt’s thigh muscles twitching around his waist, so he strokes him soothingly from hip to knee, kneading away some of that tension with trembling fingers. Then Kurt’s fingers managed to splay right over his attention-begging cock, and he thanks God for having put on boxers in the morning. With the way the heat of Kurt’s palm is burning him right through the thin fabric, he’d be a quick goner without them.

“Jesus Christ, _Kurt_ …”

Kurt nods, all focus and alertness, his own pleasure seemingly forgotten; he drags his fingers over the unfamiliar length, uncertain and eager at the same time. His eyes are huge and bright in his flushed face, and he licks his lips every time Dave whimpers.

“Not gonna – can’t last much longer, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , keep doing that, please –“

“Not stopping, David. You can – it’s okay, I want you to, want to _feel_ you. God, you’re so hot…”

Dave hopes some part of his brain his taking notes so he can go over Kurt’s words later; right now, Kurt’s fingers have settled for a shallow rhythm that has him panting and dizzy with lust. He forces his eyes open: Kurt’s used and abused pink mouth is open in a small, loose ‘o’ and his skin is damp and red just like in Dave’s filthiest dreams; his long fingers are carefully steady on Dave’s cock, rubbing and kneading Dave into the climax.

He gladly complies, muffling Kurt’s name on the strong shoulder under his head and rolling onto his side when his arms give out.

“Dave. Oh my god, _Dave_.”

Kurt doesn’t sound afraid, or hurt, or angry, so Dave lets himself rock the after-shocks of the record-breaking orgasm he has just pulled himself through. He distantly feels Kurt’s lips brushing his temple, Kurt’s fingers combing back the sweat-matted hair on his forehead; he hears a soft whisper and tries to turn his head to ask Kurt what he said, but his entire body has become a mass of really comfy jelly.

Kurt’s bed is awesome, he decides. Kurt’s bed with Kurt hot as a furnace and snuggled up tight against his side is even more awesome, even though his boxers are a cooling wet mess and there’s _something_ at the back of his mind screeching for attention. He feels his breath even out; sleeping sounds even more awesome than awesome Kurt’s awesome bed, and all three combined? Dave’s in heaven, in fucking _gay_ heaven, so suck on it, haters.

“My, my, if only there was a way to keep you in this frame of mind at all times…”

He snorts softly, nuzzling Kurt’s face just because it’s right there, smooth and warm; he can feel Kurt’s smile on his cheek – he could just die here and be happy and awesome forever and –

The screeching _something_ raises its pitch; Dave becomes very aware of Kurt grinding against his leg. He has obviously been going for discreet, and if Dave didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to, he would have smacked himself hard enough to bruise.

_Way to show love and devotion, asshole. Not to mention, I don’t know, fucking gratitude?_

“Shit, baby, I’m sorry.” He winces when Kurt gives him a trembling smile. “It’s alright, got you now.”

He pushes Kurt flat on his back and covers him with his own body carefully, remembering how much Kurt seemed to enjoy it. His boyfriend sobs brokenly when he reaches down to cup him through the painful looking stretch of his pants.

“Sshh, I know, I’m a selfish jerk. Didn’t mean to leave you all hot and bothered.” Dave grins. “Just a litlle bit, ‘cause you look really fucking gorgeous like this.”

Kurt’s eyes roll back when Dave’s whole hand covers him, eager fingers finally learning his shape. It’s a good time as any to start freaking out, what with another guy’s dick in his hand – but no, not really, not yet, how the fuck does Kurt even get out of these pants, Christ –, only he doesn’t even allow himself to think like that, not when Kurt has just made him come hard enough to see whole _galaxies_. His boyfriend lets out a strangled whimper that sounds suspiciously like Dave’s name, and just like that his cock is twitching and filling again; he winces at how sensitive it still feels, but, by the look of it, he and Kurt are going galaxy surfing _together_ any moment now.

“Fuck. You’re gonna be the death of me, Fancy, y’know that? I’m serious here, people have died from stuff like this.”

Kurt pants into his ear, apparently too far gone for coherency. Dave doesn’t really mind, he’s got enough in his hands to entertain himself with. He pulls urgently at Kurt’s zipper but it gets stuck in the middle and won’t budge; he usually loves all of Kurt’s sinfully tight pants, but not now when he’s desperate to get closer to the hardness pushing eagerly into his hand, to wrench more of those sweet sounds from Kurt’s lips.

“Baby, could you – you gotta push up a little –“

“No, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m fine, just –“ Kurt arches his back, rubbing himself against Dave’s thigh frantically. “They’re too tight, you’d have to take them off, and I can’t, can’t wait, oh god, Dave, mmngh –“

“Christ,” Dave gasps, mind reeling at the sight. There’s Kurt Hummel, proper, prim, prissy _Kurt_ Fucking _Hummel_ writhing and begging under him – luckily the stickiness in his boxers is keeping him grounded, or else he’d be back to less than three weeks ago, walking around half-dazed with night after night of impossible dreams.

“ _David_ …”

One of Kurt’s hands has a fistful of Dave’s shirt in a white-knuckled grip; the other grabs hold of his belt buckle and tugs and pulls until he’s wrenching it open, then almost rips Dave’s jeans off his rush. Dave shakes and groans when he feels Kurt’s hand back where it should never have left, rougher and more confident now that they’re both tumbling their way over the edge.

It’s awkward and silly, rutting against each other still fully dressed, Kurt’s zipper half-opened and almost bursting, Dave’s jeans sliding over his hips as Kurt jerks him off through his damp boxers – but Dave has never cared less about awkward and silly, because he finally got half his hand down Kurt’s pants and is happily making up for lost time. He palms Kurt’s hard length with a hand surer than he feels, and Kurt keens loudly into his neck, his lips hot and damp where they are fused to Dave’s skin.

“Kurt, baby, I’m not – not gonna last –“

“Do it, do it, please, waited so long – with me, Dave, please, _Dave_ –“ he _begs_ , and Dave wants to slap himself awake. This is Fancy, Kurt Fucking Hummel, Kurt _Not-My-Type_ Hummel, and he’s begging for Dave to make him come, make him come _with_ Dave, and boy, does it taste sweet.

Then Kurt’s eyes blink open and Dave is right back where he really started, expecting Kurt to blow his apology to pieces and getting teary-eyed acceptance instead. Kurt lifts his head and his lips are right there, parting for a kiss, and Dave sees a beautiful boy grinding his way through ‘Push It’, can only see the fucking huge shoulder pads and the Cheerios uniform, and that _shirt_ and the sideways look he gave Dave just before turning himself into a waking wet dream. Kurt whispers “David” and it’s like Dave keeps falling for him over and over again, like he really has no idea _where_ he started, and _why_ and _how_ , but it doesn’t fucking matter, Kurt, Kurt, _Kurt_ is all that matters, all he can see even when his eyes drop closed and he buries all the words he wants to say in Kurt’s mouth and feels him pulsing under his fingers. Dave follows right after, mumbling a warning for Kurt to keep an eye out for spiral galaxies because they’re really fucking pretty.

He collapses onto his boyfriend’s spent body, fully expecting something to happen now. A mood shift: Kurt paying him a sly compliment and nudging him away so he can go clean himself up; maybe his own stomach to growl and remind him of his skipped lunch.

But his stomach doesn’t feel the need to manifest itself, so maybe people can run on orgasms. He shifts, trying to gauge if he’s putting to much pressure on Kurt’s slender frame but there’s a hand splayed on his shoulder blade that tightens and curves into a claw, holding him in place.

He lifts his head sluggishly and feels his heart jump and drop at the same time. Kurt’s eyes are very bright and very damp; his mouth is soft and open, vulnerable. There’s a soft flush to his cheeks and every muscle in his face seems relaxed, somehow, slack and sated – and then the true significance of what they’ve been doing catches up to Dave and he shakes a bit in Kurt’s hold before slumping back down, trusting his boyfriend to just shove him off if the weight threatens to smoother him.

Later, Dave won’t be able to tell how long they stayed like that. He won’t remember Kurt falling asleep in the middle of telling him that this is very uncomfortable, and that they really need to get up and get cleaned up and – because Dave fell asleep himself just before that.

What Dave knows he will remember forever is waking up half on his side, his arm painfully bent under his body, his leg still between Kurt’s own, and what is even more surreal than anything so far – Kurt’s face mashed against his shoulder, one pale arm wrapped securely around Dave’s waist.

He likes this, he decides. Loves this, something worth giving his all, something worth keeping, something worth having his stomach in knots for fear of losing it – something worth fighting hand and claw for the chance of just one more day.

Then he shifts and it feels like he’s had super glue poured right into his boxers; he can just picture Kurt’s epic bitch-out when he comes to with half the same problem and has to smile and wonder at his sanity because he can’t fucking _wait_.

 

* * *

 

“Mom. Me and Kurt, I mean, Kurt’s my- we’re-“

“Yes?”

“We’re together.”

“Uh-uh.”

“As in _together_ -together.”

“Yes, honey.”

“As in dating. Each other.”

“And?”

“As in he’s my _boyfriend_?”

“Is that it?”

“ _Is that it_? Jesus, I just told you we –“

”Well, I’m sorry, but with that face I thought you were about to tell me you two were eloping. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but you do have that essay due on Friday.”

 _“Mom_.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie, I know it’s hard to understand that the world doesn’t always revolve around us, but you two are kind of old news.”

“… dad?”

“What? Oh, yes, son. I like Kurt. You should bring him around more often.”

“But – you know he’s my – me and him, we –“

“Sure, sure, but he has to sleep in Emily’s old room. You’re still very young.”

“What –“

“David, your father had a very long day. Let him watch people tripping and falling on their faces on wedding cakes in peace."  
  
“But –“  
  
“I was only zapping, Lizzie. I thought it was something else.”  
  
“Of course you did, honey. Now give me that, Master Chef is starting. And stop making that face, David, a mother’s love can only stretch so far."

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Train's "Drops of Jupiter". Chapter titles from Muse's "Muscle Museum".


End file.
